


propinquity.

by clxude



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, actually he's a salt mine lbr, borderline crack at points, everything is gay, gay hair dyeing, gay volleyball drama, hair clips and headbands are a plot point, shirabu kenjirou: certified salt shaker, stereotypical teen drama, there's gay kissing, ushiten became far more important but when does it not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clxude/pseuds/clxude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kenjirou Shirabu, setter. Kan- “ </p><p>“Are you fucking kidding me?” </p><p>Everyone in the gym turns to see Semi standing in the doorway. His eyes are a flame, but what stood out, even more, is his pink sparkly headband, nearly identical to the shade of his blush. </p><p>“He’s wearing the headband!” came another shout, this time from the redhead Kenjirou had spotted in the clubroom. “I told you, Reon! Pink is his color. It looks a lot better than when he wears all black and tries to look like a kpop star.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. if semi eita was a sim he would be dead by now

**Author's Note:**

> you know I would say something really nice about how excited I am for semishira week but ao3 deleted it the first time so no one gets anything nice.
> 
> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)
> 
> semishira week; day one: firsts// ~~games~~

He’s running late for his first day at Shiratorizawa, Kenjirou realizes faintly as he tugs on his black suit jacket. The prestigious school is only a twenty-minute walk away, fifteen if he runs, according to Google Maps. He glances at his alarm clock again, where the red LED display reads  _ 8:13.  _

 

Seventeen minutes left until homeroom bell, according to the website when he checked last night, Kenjirou all but gives up on his maroon tie ever being properly knotted into an Oxford, and falls out the door, running his hands through his hair until it’s somewhat presentable as he sprints down the crowded sidewalk. He sees a few people in similar ties to his own - fellow Shiratorizawa students - mixed amongst business men and women heading to the train station. 

 

Eventually, he bursts through one final crowd, and is finally able to see the entrance gate to the high school. However, he can also see a teacher standing guard, one hand firmly placed atop the fence, readying to slide it shut. Kenjirou doesn’t have a watch, but he’s certain seventeen minutes haven’t passed since he left home.

 

He slows down once he’s only a few feet from the entrance, smiling faintly at the teacher. After the teacher makes no move to close the gate before he can enter, Kenjirou almost thinks he’s in the clear. 

 

“Stop right there,” the woman says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Homeroom starts at eight-o-five on Mondays.”

 

“Oh,” Kenjirou replies, voice quiet as he blushes slightly. “But the website said - “

 

She laughs, cutting him off. She spoke in a soft voice, but her eyes remained harsh like broken glass. “You honestly can’t trust the tech department here. The shame of the school, according to every department except for them. Besides, you’re not the only one, probably. Semi-kun has been late every single day I’ve known him.”

 

Kenjirou hums for a moment in lieu of a response. It’s his first time being late for school, besides the one time his first year of middle school the train broke down. It is a bit embarrassing, and he hopes the teacher doesn’t notice his flushed cheeks from more than just running.

 

The two of them wait in silence for a few more minutes, until someone - Semi-san, Kenjirou assumes - arrives, suit jacket unbuttoned, class pin upside down. Kenjirou wrinkles his nose, biting his lip to hold back an insult. 

 

But, even with how rumpled his uniform is, Kenjirou does find him slightly attractive.  _ Slightly.  _ Not that Kenjirou particularly cares if the second year  _ is  _ in any way attractive; he had better things to do than fawn over a second year student he would most likely never see again.

 

“Aoki-sensei, are we doing this again this year?” The question almost comes out like a taunt.

 

Kenjirou recoils, opens his mouth to let out a scathing remark. How  _ dare  _ Semi-san speak that way to a teacher? But, Aoki beat him to the punch, her voice no longer anywhere as soft as it had been previously.

 

“Really, Semi-kun? I was about to ask you the same. Are we going to add this detention on top of all the others you never managed to complete last year?” 

 

Semi opens his mouth to respond, glaring at the ground. But, looking up one final time at the teacher, he closes his mouth. 

 

“Good,” she says, her words once again light, a soft smile firmly in place. “Are you ready, Shirabu-kun? Once you get your late slip from the office, you’ll be allowed to go to the first period.”

 

…

 

Kenjirou’s first day, for the most part, was completely uneventful after the events that transpired at the gate. His college prep courses assigned homework, as to be expected, but it was far less than he would receive the rest of the school year. 

 

He forces any and all thoughts of course work from his mind when he arrives at the volleyball clubroom. Kenjirou takes a deep breath before sliding the door open. A few people glance at him as he steps into the large room, but he shoulders past them and the rows of locker banks. 

 

Kenjirou drops his messenger bag onto one of the metal benches, and proceeds to shrug off his jacket. Next, he changes into his school-issued gym uniform: a maroon tee shirt and black gym shorts. He claims a locker for himself; the name tag sticker had been peeled away long ago, leaving only a sticky residue in its place. 

 

At the same time he shuts the locker door, someone clears their throat behind him. 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

Kenjirou flinches at the words and the way they are spat at him in a familiar voice. He doesn’t turn, and keeps the fingers of his left hand firmly on the locking mechanism. “Putting my things into a locker. What does it look like?”

 

“That’s my locker.” He sounds angrier now, and his hand is squeezing Kenjirou’s elbow, as if waiting for him to turn around. 

 

“So?” Kenjirou whips around, glaring, and finds himself looking into the eyes of the second year from the gate. They’re close to the same height, so Kenjirou doesn’t have to tilt his head much to look him in the eyes, but where Kenjirou is willowy, Semi is more solidly built. 

 

Kenjirou hadn’t expected to see the second year again so soon, especially not in the clubroom, and not with his body pushed up against Kenjirou, stopping him from moving.

 

“That’s my locker,” Semi states, in the voice one would use to state that water is wet, or deserts are dry. “So can you move your shit?”

 

“Right now?” Kenjirou fainted looking at a non-existent watch on his wrist. “Sorry, I can’t. I don’t want to be late for volleyball tryouts.”

 

“Not even on the team, and already taking a starter’s locker?” Semi tilts his head, his expression falling into something dark and sinister. “Move - “

 

The clubroom door slams open, and someone shoves their head in the opening. “First years, report to the second gym!”

 

“Sorry, Semi-san” Kenjirou smiles, pushing Semi off. “That’s my cue. I hope you find a locker to suit your needs.”

 

…

 

In the second gym, the first years line up to introduce themselves to the captain and state their preferred position. 

 

“Taichi Kawanishi, middle blocker. Ohira Junior High,” says the blonde beside Kenjirou, and then it was his turn.

 

“Kenjirou Shirabu, setter. Kan- “ 

 

“Are you  _ fucking  _ kidding me?” 

 

Everyone in the gym turns to see Semi standing in the doorway. His eyes are a flame, but what stood out, even more, is his pink sparkly headband, nearly identical to the shade of his blush. 

 

“He’s wearing the headband!” came another shout, this time from the redhead Kenjirou had spotted in the clubroom. “I told you, Reon! Pink is his color. It looks a lot better than when he wears all black and tries to look like a kpop star.”

 

“Shut up, Tendou,” Semi yells back, before stalking across the gym. He grabs Kenjirou by the collar of his gym shirt, lifting him up a few centimeters until they are eye to eye. “First my locker and now my position? You’re playing with fire, Shirabu-chan.”

 

“What can I say? I’ve always liked things more when they’re hot,” Kenjirou whispers back, allowing a smirk to appear on his face. “But, if you could let go of my shirt, I would appreciate that. You’re going to stretch it out.”

 

Semi rolls his eyes, but lets go of the shirt nonetheless.  

 

“I hope to never see you on the court.”

  
“Likewise.”


	2. pretty boys in pretty clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shopping, and yet, even more, hairclips in Semi's hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can buy me anything or everything on the omocat website and I'll love you forever
> 
> [this](http://www.omocat-shop.com/products/prettyboy-shirt) is the shirt mentioned 
> 
> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)
> 
> semishira week; day two: fashion// ~~mystery~~

 

The school year passes by easily after their initial introduction, but Eita still moves through gym two like he’s the star, even if he knows it to be a lie. The assistant coach who specializes in setting, Kaneko Ren, spends nearly all of practice with Shirabu, giving him tips and tricks that only years of experience could provide.

 

Eita brushes it off. He knows how to set, he wouldn't have been given the starter position at a number one school with one of the best aces in the country if he couldn’t. So, admittedly, it stung when the coach ignored him for a first year. 

 

“Ei-ta!” Tendou sings, throwing a volleyball at his head. Eita snaps back into focus just in time to catch the ball.

 

“You really shouldn’t throw things in the store,” Eita replies, shoving the  _ Mikasa  _ volleyball onto a random shelf. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

 

Not that Eita particularly really wanted to be in the sports store in the first place. What Tendou  _ had  _ advertised as a second year get together at the mall over summer break was really more of a chance for Tendou to shamelessly flirt with Ushijima. Ushijima - the poor dear - was oblivious to Tendou’s advances. 

 

Reon had been with them up until McDonald’s, but had ultimately gone home early to “watch his little sister while his mother was at work.” It wasn’t that Eita didn’t trust him, but Eita did feel betrayed. Third wheeling had never been his idea of a fun summer activity, and it wasn’t changing today.

 

“Where would you rather be, Eita?” Tendou asks, a sly smile curling his lips as he propped his arms on top of a display of running shoes. “With Shirabu-kun, perhaps?” 

 

Eita bangs his head against a shelf of kneepads, letting out a loud groan. “Why did I ever tell you about that?”

 

“Because you thought that my, and I quote, ‘shameless flirting was shameless, you should be ashamed.’ And when I asked what that mention you said I, and I’m still quoting, “should be more aggressive like I am with Shirabu-chan.’” Tendou grinned, all teeth, proud of his frankly disturbingly good impersonation. 

 

“Why am I friends with you again?” 

 

“Because I say no homo every time we hold hands while watching a horror movie.” Tendou replies, laughing slightly. “Never fear, Eita. I’m saving myself for Ushijima.”

 

…

 

_ “You guys should hang out.  Young lovers, their romance blossoming in the heat of summer and all that BS. I read this one shoujo manga where - “ _

 

“And how is your relationship with Ushijima? Still as one-sided as ever?” Eita interrupts, rolling over on his bed, one arm hanging over the edge. He pulls his phone away from his ear just before Tendou’s hurt gasp, loud enough to rupture an eardrum. 

 

_ “How could you, Eita?” _ his friend whines, voice high and tinny from poor reception.  _ “I trusted you with my feeble heart. No shoujo heroine ever had to put up with such a bitter best friend.” _

 

If Tendou was in his room at the current moment, or Eita was in his, Eita imagines that Tendou would be flipping him off, most likely with both hands. Nevertheless, Eita knows that he’ll receive a notification from Snapchat later for a message from one  _ shounen.hero,  _ most likely a middle finger erupting from crudely drawn flames. 

 

“How many times do I have to remind you that you’re not a shoujo hero? You wouldn’t even be the main character in a sports anime.” Eita ponders ending the call before Tendou can start another tirade about how  _ I can be Sailor Moon if I want to!,  _ but eventually decides against it. “Tendou,” he says instead, “I believe in you. You can, without a doubt, be any shoujo heroine you want to be.”

 

He mentally pats himself on the back for not bursting out in laughter mid-sentence. 

 

“Really?” Tendou asks a moment later, hopeful sounding, but his distrust is also clear. “Because last time you said that you had a concussion.”

 

“Shit. Yeah, you’re right. I’m pretty sure you have to be a girl to be a shoujo  _ heroine.  _ Like, that’s the literal definition. A hero, but a girl. Do you want me to get out a dictionary, because I totally will. _ ”  _

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Any time you finally realize I’m better than Ushijima,” he responds, grinning hugely, before ending the call. 

 

…

 

“Do you want to go shopping in Sendai next week?” Eita asks as soon as the other end picked up.

 

A hitched breath comes through the phone line, and a shocked voice follows. _ “Semi-san? I thought I gave you my number to plan practices together - “ _

 

“Do you want to go shopping or not?” Eita asks again, sharper than originally intended. “I’ll buy you something.” 

 

_ “Are you trying to bribe me, Semi-san?” _

 

“Yes or no? It’s not a hard question.”

 

_ “Sure. I’m never one to turn down people buying me things.” _

 

Once the call is over, Eita rolls over on his bed to scream into a pillow. Tendou Satori is an enabler; Eita isn’t sure why he ever trusted him with possible romantic endeavors. 

 

Sighing dramatically, he opens Snapchat to take a picture of his middle finger. He sent it to Tendou, along with the caption  _ ‘any unnecessary romantic advances on my part are all your fault’. _

 

…

 

Eita stands alone, just outside the train station entrance. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, fiddling with one of the numerous hair pins that reside there. He glances at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

 

Shirabu is late, but Eita hasn’t received any texts about train delays. He pulls his phone out of his pocket anyway; it doesn’t hurt to check for new messages. There're a few messages from Tendou  _ (the new chapter of bleach!!! is!!! ahhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH),  _ but for the most part, he doesn’t have any notifications. 

 

He slides it back into the pocket of his hoodie, black, with some overly abstract anime character with an eye hanging out. Tendou picked it up in Harajuku while on a family trip to Tokyo, and Eita hadn’t had the heart to tell him he never actually watched the show, only ever read the summary on Wikipedia. But it’s comfortable enough, and he finds himself wearing it more often than not when he goes out. 

 

He rolls the sleeves until the edge rests just above his elbows. Combing his hair with his fingers, he pins a few wayward strands back with some of his bobby pins, biting a few spare clips between his teeth.

 

“Vain as always, Semi-san,” whispers a voice of his shoulder.

Instead of responding right away, Eita rolls his eyes. He finishes pinning his hair back, and turns to face Shirabu. The first year is decked out in the tee shirt they give to competitors at the middle school volleyball tournament in Sendai and blue jeans.

 

“At least I look better than you,” he finally says, rolling his eyes again as he grabs Shirabu’s wrist to drag him through the crowds. “What took you so long, anyway?”

 

“Sorry,  _ sen-pai,  _ I didn’t realize it was a date.”

 

Eita stiffens for a moment, his grip on Shirabu’s wrist tightening. It’s the first time the brunette has called him  _ senpai,  _ and Eita finds it annoying immediately. Only Shirabu would use it as a taunt, something to hang over Eita’s head:  _ ‘I’m better, stronger. It’s only a matter of time before I stand at the top and the honorific becomes meaningless’.  _

 

“Doesn’t give you a reason to be late,” he finally growls, schooling his features to more of a grimace than a scowl. 

 

“Fine, the train was delayed and I didn’t feel like texting you any more than I had to. I’m here now, anyway, so what’s the fuss?” Shirabu replies, walking quickly to keep up while trying to extract his wrist from Eita’s grip.

 

“You’re an asshole. You know that, right?” 

 

Shirabu just laughs.

 

…    

 

They end up in Ichibancho Arcade in downtown Sendai, a few blocks away from the station. Shirabu has never been to the shopping complex before, so Eita takes advantage of that. They stop in every store that catches Eita’s attention for even an instant.

 

Eventually, after a thirty-minute detour in a candy shop, they find themselves in an American shop. Eita has the sinking suspicion the name means  _ Sea Dad  _ in Japanese _ ,  _ but it sells clothing that Eita likes, which is a good enough excuse to go in.

 

Inside the shop, it smells like the overpriced floral perfume they sell at the jewelry counter. It is lit mostly by the countless laps that are scattered throughout the large room, bright enough to make out the merchandise, dark enough to cast shadows on the ceiling, above the industrial steel supports. 

 

Shirabu disappears further into the shop, brushing his hands over the graphic tees and ripped skinny jeans. Eita, however, remains closer to the front, examining a rack of new shirts. The fabric is soft under his fingers as looks at each one, each in pastel colors, the designs made up of soft lines. When he reaches the final shirt, he smiles.

 

Shirabu will hate it. Not that it matters; Eita is buying it for him either way.

 

He finds Shirabu at the jewelry case, fiddling with an onyx ring. The first year frowns when Eita shoves the shirt into his hands, but sets the black ring down on the glass countertop with a clink, before heading to the changing room. 

 

Eita doesn’t have to wait long before Shirabu is back, fiddling with the hem of the shirt. He looks awkward at first, but seems more comfortable once Eita smiles at him.

 

And Eita can’t help but smile at the way the shirt dwarfs him, a size or two too large, and how the red and pink brings out his eyes. On the shirt is a picture of a boy, wide eyes, and small lips. Roses line the bottom of the frame surrounding him,  _ pretty boy  _ written on the top.

 

“You look nice,” Eita finally says, dragging his gaze back up to Shirabu’s eyes. “Come, pretty boy, it’s getting late. Ready to head back?”

 

“Um,” Shirabu blushes, and his hands are back to messing with the hem. “I just - change. I need to change. I’ll be right back?” he asks, confused for a moment, and then quickly nods and dashes back to the changing room. 

 

Once Shirabu has locked himself back in the stall, Eita whips out his phone and types out a text with lightning-quick fingers.

 

**_To: shit bag tendou_ **

_ > i fucked up and now i might have a boner _

 

Less than a second later, his phone buzzes.

 

**_From: shit bag tendou_ **

_ < what did you do?? how??????? _

 

**_To: shit bag tendou_ **

_ > ok so you know how shirabu and i are going shopping today in sendai?? well i made him try on a shirt that may have said pretty boy on it and it may have been kinda large on him and it was all very cute ok _

 

**_From: shit bag tendou_ **

_ < HAHAHAHA YOU FUCKED UP MAN _

_ < _ [ _ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XpNz1OUIjU _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XpNz1OUIjU)

_ < THIS IS YOU RIGHT NOW MAN AHAHAHA  _

_ < WAIT A SECOND BRO I GOTTA TELL REON ABOUT THIS _

 

Right as he began to type his response, Shirabu comes back from the changing room. 

 

“Here,” he says, blush still vibrant on his cheeks. “You’d said you pay.”

  
Eita clenches his jaw and takes the shirt from Shirabu, praying to every god he’s ever heard of that the first year doesn’t notice his hard on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so I really like this chapter. it might be one of my favorites, so I hope you enjoyed it as well! comments and kudos are always appreciated. requests are welcome at my [tumblr](http://mother-iwa-chan.tumblr.com/)


	3. bleach in eyes can lead to loss of vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hair dye and gayness. also, Taichi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Taichi seems a little ooc it's because he was originally Goshiki and then I remembered Goshiki is a first year and I didn't feel like writing new dialogue. 
> 
> semishira week; day 3: routines// ~~promises~~
> 
> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)

“I’d say there’s a...76% chance that he likes you back,”  Taichi says around a bite of meat bun. 

 

“Not 75?”

 

The two of them sit in the second year stairwell. Normally, they would sit on the roof with a few of Kenjirou’s classmates, but the further they went into winter, the colder it became. Snow was already sticking to the ground, and frost crept across the windows. The stairs weren’t the most comfortable, but they were warm. 

 

“Well,” Taichi begins, “I wanted to seem supportive. Unlike you, I care about my friends’ theoretical relationships.” 

 

“I really don’t want to break your heart, Taichi, but the captain of Niiyama doesn’t even know your name. I really doubt she’s in love with you,” Kenjirou replies as he picks apart his bento. He’s not really hungry, even though he knows he should eat. It’s the last day of school before winter break, and with it, the last volleyball practice. Coach Washjio always pushes them to the brink before breaks; a hundred practice serves, two hundred sets and spikes.  _ ‘You won’t practice until you come back. Every motion must be ingrained in your bones, you mustn’t forget.’ _

 

“You never know!” he shouts, too loudly. A door slams on the floor above them, and they are both silent for a minute, until they’re certain the coast is clear. “You never know,” he says again.

 

“You never know,” echoes Kenjirou. 

 

…

 

Kenjirou watches Semi in the locker room sometimes. It’s not uncommon for him, or for Semi. Their lockers are right next to each other, switching constantly until Kenjirou can’t remember which one he chose before his first practice at Shiratorizawa High School.

 

He watches Semi’s hands: his long fingers, deftly unbuttoning his rumpled suit jacket; pinning back his messy hair with glittery bobby pins and sparkly headbands. He watches Semi, and Semi watches him back. 

 

Semi’s eyes are still angry when he plays, serving balls with all his strength that touch down inches to the right or left of Kenjirou, sail centimeters above his head. They don’t talk during practice, or in the locker room, or during lunch, or on the weekends, or anytime, really, since the day trip to Sendai. 

 

But, his eyes are softer in the clubroom, in the few minutes it takes them to change before and after practice, before and after school. They melt just a little bit, from black ice to frigid water.

 

…

 

After practice, Kenjirou’s arms feel like lead. His fingers are numb, the tips bruised from constant setting, but he’s a first year, and he can’t slack off if he ever wants to rise to the top. Cleaning isn’t a necessary skill on the court, but it makes people like you, when you go above and beyond to make others’ lives easier. 

 

So he picks up all the balls, alone, and places them in the ball trolley, alone, and wheels the ball trolley to the equipment closet, alone. The cart is old, but well taken care of. The sides have black scuff marks, but the wheels do not squeak. 

 

Which, as it turns out, is exactly why Tendou and Semi don’t notice him standing in the doorway. They’re arguing, and Tendou has a ball in his hand, raised above his head as if to launch it at Semi’s face. Semi’s eyes, they’re angry again, and his mouth is pulled down into a harsh scowl. 

 

“I don’t know why you’re still mad at me for the trip to Sendai. He obviously enjoyed it, so suck it up Eita, and suck him instead.” 

 

Kenjirou blushes in time with Semi. His fingers clutch the handle of the ball cart, and he pretends that they’re not talking about him.

 

“Even if he does - and I’m not saying he doesn’t! - we’re too competitive. We fight,  _ constantly.  _ I like him, a lot, and I feel like I would only hurt him.”

 

They’re both quiet for too long. Kenjirou feels like he can’t breathe, and the oxygen already in his lungs is expanding, taking up too much room in his chest until he explodes. But then Tendou speaks again, and all of the air rushes out of Kenjirou, and his lungs expand again, and contract, and he’s breathing normally.

 

“Don’t you think he feels the same way? Shouldn’t he get a choice?”

 

They’re talking about him. Semi Eita likes him back. Kenjirou wants to faint and to scream and to kiss the second year all at the same time. But, he can’t do any of that, so he settles for stomping his foot once, before walking in and making as much noise as possible to alert them of his presence.

 

Semi blushes, and Kenjirou fears his face will be a mirror image.

 

Kenjirou doesn’t look up from the ball trolley until it’s against the wall. Even then, he doesn’t look in Tendou’s direction, and keeps his eyes above Semi’s head. 

 

“Your hair,” he says, voice too quiet, scratchy. He clears his throat, hopes his blush has subsided, and then continues. “It bothers me, how you can see the roots. I can dye it for you over break, if you wanted to come over.”

 

Semi opens his mouth to respond, his eyebrows scrunched up in the way Kenjirou has come to recognize as confusion. 

 

“I mean, you don’t have to. Sorry - that was forward of me.” Kenjirou bows quickly, pinches his face up. 

 

Tendou snorts. “Not the first time you’ve been -  _ oof.”  _

 

Kenjirou looks up to see Tendou rubbing his side, glaring at Semi, who’s smiling, eyes soft.

 

“It’s fine, Shirabu-chan. I’ve been meaning to dye it for a while. Text me when you’re free?” 

 

He leaves before Kenjirou can pick his jaw up off of the floor.

 

…

 

Semi isn’t in the clubroom when the first years finally finish cleaning. 

 

Once Kenjirou pulls off his maroon practice shirt, he opens his locker to find Semi’s warm up jacket. The first year double checks - it is, indeed, his locker this time around. His uniform is inside, just as neatly folded as he left it.

 

Kenjirou wears the jacket on the way home.

 

…

 

A week later, two days before New Years, Kenjirou wakes up to a text message from Semi. it’s short - just asking for his address and a time to show up. He’s half asleep when he replies, so it’s not until a few hours later in the shower, a few minutes after the second time he wakes up, that he realizes his room is a mess after a week of little more than sleeping and browsing the internet. 

 

He shoves everything in his closet for the most part before his dad calls him to the front door to let in the guest.  His hand is on the doorknob when he realizes he’s still wearing Semi’s jacket.

 

It’s too late, he eventually decides, and swings open the door. Semi’s wearing the same hoodie he wore to Sendai, a pharmacy bag in one hand and his phone in the other.

 

He steps past Kenjirou and leaves his shoes in the genkan, before muttering, “Gomen kudasai.” Semi then turned to face Kenjirou, frowning slightly. “You’re wearing my jacket.” 

 

“You left it in my locker.”

 

“I think they’re really more communal lockers at this point,” Semi argues as Kenjirou leads him through the hallways to his bedroom, but slips his wrist out of Kenjirou’s grasp to take his hand instead. “But it looks nice on you, either way.” 

 

Kenjirou blushes, and walks faster. 

 

“I have the instructions I normally follow pulled up on my phone, so you shouldn’t have to worry too much.” Semi says once they are finally situated in the bathroom. Kenjirou is sitting on the sink counter, watching Semi as he lays out the supplies. 

 

“My password is  _ shoujo,”  _ he says, once he’s finally done and handing his phone to Kenjirou. Kenjirou wrinkles his nose, and Semi is quick to backtrack and explain. “Tendou changed it and I was too lazy to fix it!”

 

Kenjirou rolls his eyes, typing it in any way. It opens to a wikiHow page titled  _ ‘how to bleach hair blonde’.  _

 

“It shouldn’t be too hard. All you have to do is mix the bleach and a developer,” he gestures to a Tupperware full of blue gunk, “which I already did, then apply it from the ends to the roots without getting it on any skin.”

 

Kenjirou takes a deep breath, nodding and slipping on the blue latex gloves Semi handed him. Picking up the Tupperware container, he mixes it slightly with the brush until it has a similar consistency throughout. 

 

Semi steps between Kenjirou’s legs, back to the first year’s chest so Kenjirou can see what he’s doing from his spot on the counter. 

 

The first few strokes go on easily, covering the hair smoothly. Since Semi’s hair is fairly short, it only takes ten minutes to fully coat and wrap up. Kenjirou tugs off the gloves once he has sealed the Tupperware container, and smooths the wrinkled plastic wrap so it sticks to Semi’s scalp cleanly. He leans against the mirror once he’s done, even though the metal sink faucet digs into his back.

 

Semi turns to face him, resting his hands on the counter on either side of Kenjirou’s thighs. The plastic wrap around his hair gives him a strange, almost alien, appearance. The space between them seems too distant, like the dead air between earth and the sun. Kenjirou reaches out, as if in a trance, and tucks a piece of hair under the saran wrap. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Semi’s hands clench into fists. 

 

His hand trails down the side of Semi’s face, until his palm is flat against his jaw. The skin there is smooth, only a slight pinprick from a spot Semi missed while shaving. It feels nice, against his skin. The air inside the bathroom feels electric, humming with the noise of the ventilation fan. 

 

Semi leans forward, narrowing the space between them. His hands come to rest on Kenjirou’s hips, not tight, just a reassuring weight. Their rivalry feels useless in that moment, like an anchor attached to his waist, dragging him down into the deep. 

 

Semi’s lips brush against his neck, just below Kenjirou’s ear, drawing out a gasp. His mouth moves across the first year’s skin, soft and delicate, barely constituting as a touch.

 

He pulls back, eyes wide. Kenjirou can only image what he looks like, but he wants more. Slowly, every slowly, Semi leans forward, lips barely brushing against Kenjirou’s, before the alarm on his phone goes off. The both flinch and Kenjirou jerks away, smacking his back on the mirror. 

 

“I need to wash my hair,” Semi says, his voice too quiet, even for the small bathroom. 

 

Kenjirou slips off of the counter. “I’ll go get you a towel.” He’s careful not to touch the second year as he leaves the room. Once he’s out and the door is shut, he leans against the wall, sucking in a huge breath. It felt too hot in there, and now that the spell is broken, he can finally breathe.

 

Once he gets the towel and shoves it into Semi’s arms, he flees back to his room, burrowing his head under his pillow.

 

…

 

Kenjirou doesn’t know how much time passes before Semi sits down next to him. He feels the mattress shift; his only clue that Semi is there. Neither of them speak. The kiss keeps replaying in Kenjirou’s head, again, again,  _ again. _

 

The pillow moves, but Semi still doesn’t speak, simply combs his fingers through Kenjirou’s hair. They stay like that for a while, until Kenjirou finally rolls over to face Semi. His hair is still damp from being towel dried, clinging to his forehead, but his roots are no longer black but a yellowy blonde, and will remain that way until he applies the toner. 

 

Kenjirou wants to reach out and touch it, card his fingers through it and tug Semi down to his level, until they’re chest to chest. And he does just that, threading his fingers carefully through Semi’s hair, dragging him down until their mouths meet. 

 

Every single point of contact between them feels too hot and electric. Semi’s lips push against his, dragging out soft little noises. Kenjirou tugs Semi’s hair every time Semi bites his lip, every time his tongue brushes the seam of his mouth. 

 

He tugs the pale hair, again, when Semi lets out a groan, a feverish,  _ “Kenji.” _

 

Kenjirou gasps in response, and Semi seizes the moment and snakes his tongue into Kenjirou’s mouth. They’ve both kissed before, and it’s obvious in the fluid way they move, barely a hint of teeth and never too much moisture. 

 

By the time Semi pulls away, their lips are pink and swollen. 

 

“I don’t kiss people I don’t intend to date,” Kenjirou whispers, breathless, gasping a little when Semi’s lips brush against his neck. “Personal policy and all that.”

 

“That’s a good policy,” Semi responses, equally breathless. “I might just have to abide by it.”

 

A few kisses later, Semi pulls away again. “My train leaves soon.” He smiles, smirk firmly in place, but his eyes are soft, the way they always are before and after practice in the clubroom, before and after school. “You can give me my jacket back next time I see you, boyfriend.”

 

He slips out the door like a phantom. Kenjirou can hear a muffled farewell to his father, the sound of the door slamming shut, and then, silence. 

 

…

  
He falls asleep that night, once again in Semi Eita’s jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated. requests are always welcome at my blog mother-iwa-chan


	4. oreos and chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Slime Girls when I wrote this chapter so that tells you something about my personality. also, why is space boyfriend not on spotify. okay so I kinda went on a less traditional route for the prompt, because the uni prompt usually is interpreted as either a university au or aged up characters in college. instead, I did Semi freaking out about getting into a good university :)
> 
> ALSO, THIS IS THE CHAPTER WHERE THINGS GET A BIT BELOW THE BELT, SO IF YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH WITH LITTLE TO NO DESCRIPTION OF GUYS DOING TO THE DO, CTRL+F FROM "allows himself to be dragged into bed anyway." TO "When Kenjirou wakes up" 
> 
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY EITHER WAY
> 
> also grammarly still hates how many commas I use
> 
> semishira week; day 4: university// ~~childhood~~
> 
> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)

**_From: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ < can you go check on your bf?? he’s worrying about exams and won’t leave his room _

 

**_To: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ > Why can’t you? _

 

**_From: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ < bc i have a date in an hour _

_ < now go cheer that salt shaker up _

_ < and bring food he’ll like that _

 

Kenjirou rereads the messages while he’s on the train. Almost two hours have passed since he received it. It was the first time Kenjirou’s senpai had texted him, and he had almost forgotten they had exchanged numbers, almost a year ago, when Kenjirou officially joined the team. 

 

But, what he said was true: Semi had shut himself away. The second year’s exams were only a few weeks away, and it would greatly impact whether or not he would be able to keep his sports scholarship, and with it, his chance at going to a good university. He still texts Kenjirou occasionally, so the first year knows his boyfriend isn’t dead at least, but his responses are always short, and almost always followed by  _ ‘I need to get back to my notes. talk later?’ _

 

For the most part, the train is quiet. Exams are only a few weeks away, and even though it is the weekend, most students are inside studying. Besides Kenjirou, there is a mother with her child, a few middle school boys, and an older woman surrounded by shopping bags. 

 

The silence in the carriage almost seems tangible, thick and viscous. Kenjirou wishes the train would hurry up, rush along the tracks faster, but he still has at least twenty minutes until Semi’s stop.

 

He crosses his leg, right foot over his left knee, bouncing his foot. His fingers play with the hem of his hoodie; Semi’s hoodie, really, the one he had worn to Sendai. The more they switched lockers in the clubroom, the more the line between  _ Semi’s  _ and  _ Shirabu’s  _ faded. Besides, the sweater was comfy, overlarge and baggy on the slim first year. 

 

The little girl begins to wander the train, trailing her fingers along the seat cushions. Her mother calls her back, chastising her for touching something so dirty.

 

The middle school boys laugh about something. One of them, the tallest, pushes a brunette off of his seat. The brunette laughs along with the rest of them, though he’s blushing heavily.

 

The old woman appears to be sleeping; her chest rises and falls in an easy rhythm, breathing steady. Her grip never loosens on her bags. She may be resting, but she never fully slips into an unconscious state. 

 

The train continues on.

 

…

 

It’s noon when Kenjirou finally arrives at the station down the street from Semi. He’s the only one to disembark, and it’s into a station that is just as empty as the train. The last time Kenjirou had been to the station was a month ago, and the small building had been packed with Valentine’s Day crowds, so unlike how it is now. 

 

Soon, he’s through the turnstile and into the sunlight. He blinks a few times, not used to the bright light after the dim shadows of the train, but adjusts his bag straps on his shoulders and sets off down the street. 

 

It’s not far from the train station entrance: just a few blocks down the street, first house on the right after the third block. Kenjirou rings the doorbell, and folds his hands behind his back. It takes a few moments, but soon Kenjirou can hear a door slide open, and then the front door opens as well. 

 

Semi looks shocked for a moment, eyes wide and underlined with purple bruises, hair pushed back with an army of pins and his pink volleyball headband. He smiles after a moment, and Kenjirou jumps into his open arms. The first year’s hands slip under Semi’s shirt, spreading his fingers wide to touch every possible inch of skin on his back. 

 

Semi steps back into the genkan, and Kenjirou follows, a quick whispered  _ “Gomen kudasai,”  _ before his lips are on Semi’s, kicking the door shut behind him. They stand in the genkan, Kenjirou’s back against the wall. Semi’s hands slid down from Kenjirou’s back until they’re just under the black hoodie, thumbs brushing over the tops of his hips, just above his jeans. Their mouths stay closed, simply push against each other, breathing the other in.

 

Eventually, Semi pulls away, hands still on Kenjirou’s hips. His mouth is already beginning to bruise from kissing, and when Kenjirou tries to lean forward to reclaim his mouth, Semi stops him with a frown. 

 

“Did Tendou send you?” he asks, once again evading Kenjirou’s lips. “I need to study, Kenji.”

 

“What you need is a break,” he argues back, tracing over the bags under Semi’s eyes. They’re a deep purple, a new addition since the last time Kenjirou has seen him. “When’s the last time you even slept, Eita? You look like you haven’t in weeks.”

 

Semi sighs, raising his hand to push back his bangs. He stops, however, the hand just hovering in the air, when he remembers the assortment of accessories keeping it pinned back. “I don’t have time. There’s too much material, and my English vocabulary still needs a lot of work, and  - “

 

“Shh,” Kenjirou interrupts, placing his finger against Semi’s lips. “Either you go to sleep, or you don’t get the Oreos in my bag.” 

 

He knows it was a cheap shot. Semi’s love for Oreos is well known. It feels manipulative, almost, but when it comes to his boyfriend’s health, bribery didn’t seem like the worst possible thing he could possibly do.

 

Semi simply rolls his eyes and leaves the genkan, signalling Kenjirou to follow him. Kenjirou is quick to follow, toeing off his sneakers, before running to catch up. Hand in hand, they walk through the house and up the stairs, before eventually ending up in Semi’s room. 

 

Once the door is shut, Semi immediately flops onto his bed. “Can I have the Oreos now?”

 

Kenjirou doesn’t reply, simply unzips his bag. It takes a bit of digging, since they’ve fallen to the bottom of his bag, but he finds them eventually. The packaging is crinkled, the cookies somewhat crumbly from being crushed between Kenjirou and the wall. As soon as Kenjirou tosses over the sleeve, Semi rips it open, a spray of crumb flying, and shoves one of the cookies in his mouth. 

 

Kenjirou walks over, and stands between Semi’s legs. Semi smiles up at him.

 

“Are you going to go to sleep now?”

 

“Mmm, no,” Semi says, placing the rest of the Oreos on his desk, before taking Kenjirou’s hand. “I’m not tired yet. Wear me out, Kenji?”

 

“God, you’re useless,” Kenjirou laughs, but allows himself to be dragged into bed anyway. 

 

Semi is on top of him in an instant, tugging off Kenjirou’s - his - hoodie as quickly as he can, while still trying to maintain the kiss. They are apart for a mere instant, but Semi attacks his lips with a hunger like it had been centuries. 

 

“You’re wearing the shirt I got you,” Semi whispers against his neck, his mouth sliding over the delicate skin. Bruises will blossom there most likely, definitely, with the way Semi bites down. “Such a pretty boy.”

 

“Eita.” It feels like it’s being ripped out of his throat, dragged out by Semi with his every kiss.

 

Things begin to blur after that, until it is just the feeling of hands sliding against skin, Semi’s breath hot on Kenjirou’s face, his mouth Oreo sweet. It feels like Semi is touching him everywhere all at once, mouth on his neck, one hand pinning his to the sheets, the other unbuttoning his jeans. It feels like too much and not enough all at once, tearing him apart and sewing him back together again, again,  _ again.  _

 

_ “Kenji.” _

 

…

 

When Kenjirou wakes up, the blinds are drawn, glowing slightly with the light of the setting sun, and all of the lights, save for the desk lamp, are switched off. The bed is empty, but the spot beside Kenjirou is still warm. He rolls onto his side, and can just make out Semi, hunched over his desk, through sleep-hazed eyes. 

 

He stumbles out of bed, tugging the bottom of his shirt down. Draping his arms around Semi’s neck, he hums, pressing his lips against Semi’s shoulder. Notes are spread out across the desk, full of cluttered words, both kana and English letters, a few of them highlighted. The Oreo package is on the desk as well, now empty. 

 

“Feel better now?” he asks, before disentangling himself to go hunt for his pants.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Be sure to sleep later, ok?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Love you.”

  
“Love you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Requests are welcome at my [tumblr](http://mother-iwa-chan.tumblr.com/) and I FINALLY HAVE MY URL BACK OH MY GOD THE STRUGGLE WITH FATHER-OIKAWA-SAMA


	5. the angst interlude; vol. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now y'all enjoy this, I'm going back to feeling bad for England on tumblr
> 
> semishira week; day 5: ~~magic~~ //texting
> 
> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)
> 
> YES I'M AWARE THAT SHIRABU SETS DURING INTERHIGH PRELIMS  
> DO I CARE  
> NO

**_To: Eita_ **

_ > You left pretty quickly after practice. Everything okay? _

_ > Is this about what Coach said? I don’t want to take your spot, but Coach just wants what’s best for the team and winning. _

_ > And, if that means me being a starter, I can’t change that. _

 

…

 

**_To: Eita_ **

_ > Want to hang out later? There’s a new ice cream place near my house. A few people from the team wanted to go. _

_ > We can go somewhere else if you want to do that instead. _

_ > Semi? Is something wrong? _

 

…

 

**_To: Eita_ **

_ > I’m going to Tashirojima for a week for my sister’s birthday so I won’t be able to text you. _

_ > What to hang out when I get back? _

 

…

 

**_To: Eita_ **

_ > _ _ Tashirojima was fun. My sister almost convinced our parents to let her take home a cat.  _

_ > When they said no she started to cry, so they bought her a cat charm. _

_ > Five-year-olds are the worst. At least she’s cute when she’s not crying.  _

 

…

 

**_To: Eita_ **

_ > I saw Tendou-senpai today. He said you were happy, practicing a lot with Ushijima. _

_ > That’s good. More than I’ve heard from you, you know? _

 

**_From: Eita_ **

_ < what do you want? for me to say i’ve been great? _

_ < i lost my spot as a starter bc of you i deserve to be upset _

 

**_To: Eita_ **

_ > Are you being fucking serious right now?  _

_ > I made you lose your spot? _

_ > I’m sorry I was the kind of player Coach Washjio wanted, and that you weren’t good enough. _

_ > But that’s no reason to shut me out. _

 

**_From: Eita_ **

_ < sorry _

 

**_To: Eita_ **

_ > Just ‘sorry’? _

_ > Is that all you have to say? _

_ > not even ‘I’m sorry’ _

_ > just ‘sorry’ _

_ > you can take your ‘sorry’ and shove it up your fucking ass. I don’t want it _

 

…

 

**_To: Semi_ **

_ > FUCK YOU SEMI EITA _

_ > YOU CAN SAY FUCKING GOODBYE TO MY GODDAMN ASS BECAUSE YOU’RE NEVER SEEING IT AGAIN _

 

…

 

**_Delete all messages from:_ ** _ Semi _

_ <yes>  no _

 

**_Are you certain? Please confirm your choice._ **

_ <yes>  no _

 

...

 

**_Delete contact?_ **

_ <yes>  no _

 

**_Are you certain? Please confirm your choice._ **

_ <yes>  no _

 

…

 

**_From: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ < whats up with u and eita? he just showed up w/ ice cream and shounen ai and isn’t talking _

_ < he doesn’t even like anime _

_ < or chocolate ice cream which is the kind he brought btw _

 

**_To: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ > how about you fucking ask him _

_ > it’s his fault  _

 

**_From: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ < hes not talking thats why i asked you _

_ < and did you just curse?? at your senpai?? shirabu kenjirou i raised you better _

_ < but really whats going on _

 

**_To: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ > it’s great that you’re such a nice friend, but I don’t care _

_ > go play with Ushijima-senpai’s balls or something _

 

**_From: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ < eita & i r going to watch love stage and u can chill like 4real bro _

_ < but i still want to know whats going on _

_ < so i command u as ur senpai to tell me later _

_ < bc ive never seen eita cry and i never want to again _

_ < he looks like a baby seal being eaten alive by birds tbh _

_ < k the show is starting ttyl shirabu!! _

 

…

 

**_Delete selected photos?_ **

_ <yes>  no _

 

**_Are you certain? Please confirm your choice._ **

_ yes  <no> _

 

_ … _

 

**_From: unknown number_ **

_ < can we talk kenji? _

_ < please come on i’m sorry it’s not your fault _

_ < i miss you _

_ < kenji? _

 

…

 

**_Delete all messages from:_ ** _ unknown number _

_ <yes>  no _

 

**_Are you certain? Please confirm your choice._ **

_ yes  <no> _

 

…

 

**_From: Taichi_ **

_ < Tendou-senpai just texted me??? _

_ < Apparently my best friend and his boyfriend are fighting and no one told me _

 

**_To: Taichi_ **

_ > He’s not my boyfriend anymore. _

_ > We broke up _

 

**_From: Taichi_ **

_ < Care to share with the jury as to why? _

 

**_To: Taichi_ **

_ > He blames me for the coach saying he will change the starting lineup after summer break _

_ > Like we all saw it coming. It’s not like it’s a surprise at this point _

 

**_From: Taichi_ **

_ < Fuck that. Washjio has always done the line up the way he finds it necessary for winning _

_ < And if he thinks you would make a better setter than Semi, so be it _

_ < You can’t change that _

 

**_To: Taichi_ **

_ > I just wish Eita would see it that way. _

 

…

 

**_Call from:_ ** _ unknown number _

_ answer  <decline> _

 

…

 

**_Voice mail from:_ ** _ unknown number _

_ <listen>  delete _

 

_ “Hey, it’s been a while. I know how I reacted was wrong, and I know ignoring you was even worse. Look, I’m so sorry, Kenji. You mean a lot to me. You know that right? Like my hair wouldn’t be dyed nearly as well without you, and practice wouldn’t be as fun without the competition, and - I’m rambling. I fucked up, I know that, okay? But please, just call me back, okay? I lo - “ _

 

**_Voice mail from:_ ** _ unknown number _

_ listen  <delete> _

 

**_Are you certain? Please confirm your choice._ **

_ <yes>  no _

 

_... _

 

**_From: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ < ayy i’m having a party @ my house last day of break _

_ < you in??????? _

 

**_To: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ > Will Semi-san be there? _

 

**_From: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ < yeah ofc _

 

**_To: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ > Sorry I can’t go.  _

_ > Something came up. _

 

**_From: Tendou-senpai_ **

_ < you keep telling yourself that _

_ < never forget that your senpai knows all _

 

…

 

**_From: unknown number_ **

_ < i understand if you’re angry _

_ < and if you don’t want to talk _

_ < but we need to at some point _

 

…

 

**_Save_ ** _ unknown number  _ **_to contacts?_ **

_ <yes>  no _

 

**_Save contact as:_ **

_ Semi-san _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. This chapter was called "the angst interlude" in my planning notes and I regret nothing.
> 
> hmu at mother-iwa-chan on tumblr!!


	6. bathrooms are *NOT* sanitary crying areas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's gay what more do you want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is kinda late I went shopping with my mom which was awkward but I got a shirt with cacti on it and the lumberjanes so who's winning. Also why is it so fucking hot. like chill honestly. Also I read all dorito face bad touch senpai while writing this chapter, so that might explain somethings
> 
> semishira week; day 6: ~~fears~~ //pride
> 
> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)

Eita wakes up early on the morning of the spring tournament finals, his final game in Miyagi, half out of it and more than a little exhausted. His sheets are pulled up over his head, leaving the air sickly warm. He considers staying in bed right up until he has to leave for his train to school, but after hearing his phone vibrate on his pillow, he reaches out blindly and feels around until he finds it. The harsh light of his screen at full brightness stings his eyes for a moment, but he adjusts quickly enough.

 

**_From: Kenji_ **

_ < Don’t allow your feelings to interfere with my playing. _

_ < I fully intend to allow Ushijima-senpai to win, and if you fuck that up for me, we will never speak again, in any context. _

_ < Do your job as a pinch server and reserve setter, nothing more. _

 

Eita’s fingers hover for the keypad for a moment. He thinks out a reply  _ (i would never try to ruin a game),  _ but tosses it, replacing it a moment later  _ (is that all you have to say? do my job and stay out of your way?),  _ before finally settling for not responding. 

 

He rolls out of bed, switching on the overhead light, before heading to the bathroom. His skin is paler than normal, under the florescent lights of his bathroom. He runs his brush through his hair while the shower heats up. It keeps getting stuck, ripping out hair and making his scalp sting. By the time he finishes, it’s fluffed up and messy, but at the very least the tangles are gone. 

 

Once in the shower, Eita twists the faucet handle until the water is pouring out as hot as possible. It will leave his back a burning red, but the heat relieves tension in his muscles, tendons, and bones. He stays under the spray for longer than strictly necessary, until his fingers are wrinkled and cheeks are a ruddy pink. 

 

Soon enough, Eita is back before the mirror. Barrettes and bobby pins, as well as his pink headband, are spread out on the countertop. As he works on pinning his bangs back and out of his eyes, he rationalizes that it is not necessary for him to cross his bobby pins, interlocking them to avoid any slippage. He won’t be playing more than three minutes straight at any point through the Karasuno match, if Washjio puts him in at all as a pinch server. But, he carries on anyway, until more Shiratorizawa-red clips are visible than actual hair.

 

He’s out the door in twenty more minutes, dressed in his volleyball uniform and warm-up sweats, with his bag over his shoulder, shoved full of energy drinks and food for Tendou, who always managed to forget, along with his volleyball shoes and a towel.

 

…

 

Eita stops, one foot on the bus. 

 

Unlike most high school teams, the Shiratorizawa High School boys volleyball team has their own bus. It makes sense really, with how often the illustrious team had attended nationals in Tokyo over the past few years. It is simply more cost effective. However, this year, the bus was exactly large enough to hold the A and B strings, the two coaches, the two managers, and the faculty advisor without any seats to spare. 

 

Which, as it happens, is exactly why the only spot remaining was next to Shirabu. 

 

Eita shrugs it off. He walks down the aisle, flipping of Tendou when he offers a sympathetic expression only to burst out in laughter a moment later. Ushijima offers a similar look, but it’s genuine. 

 

Eita plops down next to Shirabu. Neither of them speak. Shirabu immediately digs a pair of red headphones out of his bag, and plugs the cord into his phone. They don’t look each other until the bus stops at a gas station, and even then it’s so Shirabu can climb over Eita to go to the restroom. 

 

When the bus pulls out of the station, Tendou shoves the first year libero out of his seat in front of Eita, claiming it for himself.

 

“Go sit by Wakatoshi. It’s totally my seat, and I’m just letting you borrow it, but I promise he doesn’t bite,” Tendou says, almost soothingly. The blonde still looks terrified, even more so when the redhead whispers  _ “shoo.” _

 

“Now, that was overly difficult,” he says, grinning, all teeth. Eita wonders if that’s what spikers see, when the Gesu Monster looms before them. “How are you, my dear Eita-kun?”

 

Out of the corner, Eita swears he sees Shirabu flinch. 

 

“Mmm, fine, I guess. Haven’t been up to much.” 

 

“I’ve been doing a lot of stuff lately, actually,” Tendou laughs, before turning to call over his shoulder. “Hey, Wakatoshi!”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re stuff, the best stuff I’ve ever seen!”

 

Semi lets out a groan and drops his head into his hands.

 

…

 

The group warm up is awkward, to say the least. Everyone partners with the person they sat next to on the bus, which ends with a first-year libero looking like he’s about to cry when Ushijima stretches out his back, and Eita and Shirabu careful to not touch each other any more than they must. 

 

They do not talk. They know each other well enough at this point to understand what the other needs, even if it’s been months since they last really talked. 

 

Eita’s hands are stretched out in front of him, his forehead almost touching the ground. He can feel the burn in his thighs, and the heat where Shirabu’s fingers rest on his back, pushing him further against the floor. This, a singular, worthless touch, is the most Eita has gotten in months. It means nothing, and yet at the same time, everything.

 

He can’t focus on the touch, or it’s various connotations. They’re lies, all of it, made up in his head to turn a sad situation into something dire. They’re warming up for finals, a game they’re almost guaranteed to win. This touch is simply to stop injuries, and it does  _ not  _ remind Semi Eita to a moment in his bedroom in May, before summer break, before everything went to shit. 

 

It does not remind him of anything, and it most definitely does not remind him of soft hands tracing over every inch of his skin in the dark.

 

…

 

The match starts out in Shiratorizawa’s favor, to no one’s surprise. Karasuno is a no name school, a fallen champion barely scratching top eight until this year. Ushijima racks up points without difficulty, the other team’s blockers unable to stop him. Their libero is able to pick up Ushijima’s receives eventually, but even he, the infamous Nishinoya Yuu, can’t get all of them as the ace lays on more power.

 

Eita watches all of this from the sidelines. He sees all of Tendou’s blocks; Yamagata’s receives; Ushijima’s spikes; Shirabu’s sets. They move as one, a well-oiled machine after two years of practicing non-stop. Eita wonders how he still fits in this equation, or if he even still does, outside of the role of the occasional pinch serve. 

 

…

 

The moment the team starts to slip, he sees it written all over Shirabu’s face. No one can say Shirabu Kenjirou isn’t a talented setter, but everything bends under pressure eventually. He sees the fear, when Tendou’s spike is blocked. The anger, when Karasuno’s number nine does a dump shot in retaliation. And he sees the horror,  _ the shock,  _ when number eleven slams Ushijima Wakatoshi’s spike to the ground like he’s a blonde Tendou Satori with sports goggles. 

 

Eita is familiar with this pressure. He’s faced it enough at nationals. The setter’s job is to evade blocks, to set up spikes that end in victory. Shirabu is going to break, and it’s obvious when Karasuno claims the fourth set, their second, so Shiratorizawa is tied with the  _ fallen champion.  _

 

…

 

When Karasuno’s shorty scores the final point of the Miyagi finals, Shirabu only sticks around long enough to bow to the other team and the spectators before he’s gone. Coach Kaneko opens his mouth, but Washjio places his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and shakes his head. 

 

“Don’t,” he says, barely loud enough to be heard over Karasuno’s cheers. “He needs time.”

 

…

 

Time, as it turns out, is only how long it takes for everyone to gather their bags. Kaneko sends Eita to fetch Shirabu so Washjio can give his speech. Eita doesn’t want to go, but after losing to Karasuno, Eita doesn’t want to argue with the assistant coach.

 

It’s hard to move through the crowds, harder even still to avoid the shamed Shiratorizawa cheering section. Shirabu isn’t in their locker room, or in the main floor restroom. Eita climbs the stairs, looking around everywhere for the runaway setter, before finally finding him in him in a secluded restroom tucked away from the rest of the arena. 

 

The door is locked, but not thick enough for it to block the sound of Shirabu crying. Eita rests his forehead against the door for a few minutes, listening to Shirabu. Once it sounds as if the second year has begun to calm down, he raises his fist, and knocks.

 

“Go away,” his voice sounds scratchy from crying. Eita doesn’t go away, and knocks again.

 

“I said go away!”

 

“The coaches want you to come back, Kenji,” he adds the nickname on a whim, praying it doesn’t backfire. “Come out, please.”

 

The door swings open, and Shirabu is in front of him before Eita is able to react. The brunette’s cheeks are pink, his eyes red-rimmed. 

 

“Why did they send you?” he doesn’t sound angry, exactly, as much as he sounds tired. 

 

“I didn’t ask.” He reaches out, and touches Shirabu’s arm softly. The muscles feel tense even now. “How do you feel?”

 

And Shirabu looks angry then, eyes flashing like a woman scorned. His voice is dangerously low. “How do I  _ feel?  _ I just tanked the volleyball career of one of the best high school aces in the country. I just pissed on the legacy of one of the strongest schools in the prefecture. So, I feel  _ just fine,  _ thanks for asking.”

 

“It’s not all your fault,” Eita says, even though he knows he would blame himself just as much, if not more, if he was in the same position. 

 

“Yes, it is!” Shirabu shouts. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears again. “I fucked up, Semi. We lost against a no name school that hasn’t gone beyond the third game in  _ years.  _ They’re worthless, and I let them come and destroy us!”

 

“They’re not worthless!” Eita yells back. “Oikawa’s kouhai isn’t worthless! He’s a monster, just like the rest of us. They all are. Being a top school doesn’t guarantee victory, and you need to realize that before you sound like Goshiki. Just thinking you’ll win because you always do is bullshit.” He grabs Shirabu’s hands again, and doesn’t let go. “We are not weak, just because we lost. Karasuno was stronger, it’s that simple. Ushijima’s career isn’t gone. He’s not suddenly no longer in the top three aces.  _ You  _ are still a great player, Shirabu Kenjirou.”

 

“I just wanted you to be proud of me,” Shirabu whispers, and it’s so quiet that Eita isn’t quite sure if he made it up or not. “But I took your spot and walked all over it. I was just so mad, and - ”

 

He knows, faintly, that it’s a shitty idea, but he leans forward anyway, kissing Shirabu hard before the second year can say anything else. His lips taste like Gatorade, soft against Eita’s. He’s still at first, frozen against the third year. The older starts to pull back, and then Shirabu’s arms are around his next neck, pulling him back harder. Shirabu is pressed between him and the wall and he feels the same as always, like they’ve been transported back to May, back to before the summer. 

 

“Eita, fuck,” he moans, as Eita attacks his neck, sucking a bruise on his collarbone. It’s hard to do, with the way the uniforms are cut, but it is far enough along Shirabu’s shoulder that it won’t show.

 

Then, Shirabu is pulling him up again, curling his tongue into Eita’s mouth until the third year is pliant against him. 

 

“I missed you so fucking much, Kenji.” And he feels like he’s about to cry, maybe, so he settles for kissing Shirabu instead, kissing  _ Kenji,  _ until someone clears their throat.

 

He looks up, expecting to see some mortified parent and some kid about to piss in their pants. Instead, he’s face to face with Tendou. The redhead looks somewhere between pleased and ill.

 

“It’s great to see that neither of you have murdered each other,” he says, grinning slightly, “but I really don’t want to see you sucking face, either.”

 

Eita and Shirabu both blush, but it’s okay. 

 

They’re okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see it was only slight angst and now everyone is happy


	7. pretty boys eat cherry popsicles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)

 

They’re kissing behind the popsicle stand in a park, a few blocks from Shirabu’s house. It’s getting dark, with the sun sinking beyond the horizon and storm clouds blocking the light of the moon. The stand has been closed for hours now, and the rest of the park is deserted. It’s near silent, the only noise the occasional moan that slips out of Shirabu’s mouth whenever Eita gently licks into it.

 

Shirabu’s mouth is soft and pliant under his, still tasting faintly of cherries from when the stand was open earlier. In the darkness, it tastes sweeter, like the lollies they give out at the doctors. Eita is kissing after it, pushing against Shirabu until there’s no space left between the two high schoolers, no space between Shirabu and the wall.

 

The air is cold - made up of last February chill - and although Eita’s lips are chapped, they still feel warm, heavy with blood from how hard Shirabu kisses him. His hands are warm as well, slipped up under Shirabu’s hoodie to grip the tops of his hip bones;  _ Eita’s  _ hoodie, he had realized faintly when he picked up Shirabu, the one Tendou had given him. It is too large on the second year, leaving him to appear even smaller than he actually is.

 

_ “Pretty boy.” _

 

…

 

They’re huddled beneath Eita’s sheets. They’re the only ones home, so it’s quiet. Shirabu’s head is on Eita’s chest, and it rises and falls with his every breath. Eita cards his fingers through Shirabu’s hair. It’s tacky with sweat, but the smaller boy hums contently at the motion. The sheet only covers what's below the base of his spine, leaving smooth skin uncovered. It, too, is covered in sweat, alongside red marks. 

 

Eita holds back a sigh. He wishes he could freeze the moment where it is, perfect and serene, like something out of a vintage photograph. Or, he could liquefy it, and keep it on a high shelf in his cupboard so he can take it out whenever he needs it. 

 

It can’t last forever, with the school year ending in a few weeks. In a month, Shirabu, his Kenji, his  _ pretty boy,  _ will be a third year, and Eita will be off to university. The University of Tsukuba isn’t anywhere close to home, halfway down the country and a five-hour train ride from Miyagi. Moments like these, moments that feel like a high-end western romance, will become few and far between.

 

Suddenly, Eita realizes he doesn’t know the exact position of every single vertebra running the length of his partners back like the way he knows Shirabu’s set. He won’t see his every game, and he won’t be playing for the same team. 

 

His hand stills. Shirabu lets out an indigent whine. 

 

He doesn’t want to think about university, even though it’s something he knows he must. They need to talk about it; it’s the elephant in the room, and they can’t keep living around it like it doesn’t exist. A lack of communication led to their downfall the first time. Eita can’t let it happen a second time.

 

He sits up, and Shirabu lets out another whine. Eita ignores it and pulls the second year into his lap. He wraps his arms around Shirabu’s waist, and kisses his neck, not moving until all he can feel is the other boy. It’s not enough, but it’s all he can have, and it more than he’ll have in a few weeks.

 

“I love you,” he says, lips still pressed against Shirabu’s neck, “so fucking much, and I’m going to miss you so much I can barely breathe.” 

 

“If you think I’m ever letting you go again, you’re sadly mistaken, Semi Eita,” he says, pushing against Eita’s chest until he’s lying down on the bed again, with Shirabu straddling him. “Got it?”

 

Before Eita can respond, Shirabu’s lips are on his.

 

…

 

The park is crowded, the last free day before school starts back up. Eita is leaving for college tomorrow, and Shirabu will be beginning his final year of high school. It feels strange to see the brunette as a senior in high school, but it will be stranger still to be further than a twenty-minute train ride away. 

 

He and Shirabu are sitting on a bench, twenty feet down the path from the popsicle stand. Shirabu has a cherry one again, and as it melts, it drips down his chin. Eita wants to lick it off, but Shirabu would most likely shove him off the bench if he tried to do that in public. Instead, he holds Shirabu’s hand, hopes no one will notice. 

 

It’s warmer now, with the beginning of April, but Shirabu is still wearing Eita’s old Shiratorizawa warm-up hoodie, zipped up all the way. It’s to hide the shirt he’s wearing, Shirabu had said earlier, the one Eita had bought for him his first year, the one that said  _ pretty boy  _ on it. It’s not as large on him anymore, but it still affects Eita all the same.

 

He had worn it when he showed up at Eita’s house a few hours before hand, and continued to wear it as Eita shoved him against his bedroom door and dropped to his knees. They didn’t really have any plans besides hanging out one last time before Eita had to leave for college, and neither of them were in any position to complain once Shirabu arched his back and let out a high pitched moan. 

 

Eita tries to not think about that sound. They’re in public for fuck’s sake, and there are children playing only a few meters away. He doesn’t need another awkward boner because of a high school setter with stupidly pretty hair.

 

…

 

It’s getting late, and families are starting to leave. 

 

“I need to go soon. Mom’s making dinner, and she wants me to help.”

 

Eita hums in agreement, but doesn’t let go of Shirabu’s hand.

 

“She said you could come over, if you were done packing for college.”

 

He hums again, and loosens his grip when Shirabu carefully extracts his hand. Shirabu presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and his lips are just this side of sticky from his popsicle. Eita hums again, and pretends he’s not blushing from Shirabu’s small display of affection.

 

“So are you going to come over?”

 

Eita kisses him, full on the mouth, whispers,  _ “Of course, Kenji”,  _ against his lips. 

 

They taste like cherry popsicles.

 

Shirabu laughs, “That’s what I thought.”

 

…

 

“I love you.”

 

“Love you more.”

 

“I’ll see you in a few weeks, right?”

 

“I’ll be waiting at the train station.”

 

“I’ll miss you, Eita.”

 

“I’ll miss you more, pretty boy.”

 

…

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Requests are welcome at my [tumblr](http://mother-iwa-chan.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually kinda proud of this?? like not this chapter in particular as much as the entire fic. So, I hope you enjoy, comment, subscribe, leave kudos and all that if you want. I take requests on my blog, so hmu at mother-iwa-chan on tumblr


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